


oh, I am not quite sleeping

by thegoldensun (thesecondsmile), thesecondsmile



Series: hold me 'til I die (meet you on the other side) [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Brotherly Love, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Gen, Pre-Canon, Smaurent, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 16:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondsmile/pseuds/thegoldensun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondsmile/pseuds/thesecondsmile
Summary: The rise, and fall.Everything that takes place under Auguste's nose.  Love can make you blind.Prequel to 'weave our goodbyes'
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince)
Series: hold me 'til I die (meet you on the other side) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202855
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. washes our tears all away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title taken from 'The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out To Get Us' by Sufjan Stevens. Chapter title taken from 'If We Hold On Together' by Diana Ross.

_ “I love you so much, Laurent.” _

Soft hands, much larger than his, dancing lightly across his sides. Long fingers gently tucking a stray lock of golden hair behind his ears. Blue eyes looking trustingly at his older family member. Soft lips pressing sweetly against a pale cheek. A childish giggle. Familial love.

“Auguste! Don’t do that, it’s ticklish,” he whines, pouting crossly. It’s quite the sight, a severe, disapproving expression on the face of a five year old. Against Laurent’s best efforts, Auguste can’t help but laugh. 

  
This just makes Laurent even more upset. Summoning up all the princely authority he has and trying to take on a royal air, he points an accusing finger at his brother, calling out haughtily, “Guards, arrest this fool!”

Instantly, the doors open and the Prince’s Guard rushes in. Auguste gawks at their speedy response, but also at the fact that they entered at all, while Laurent looks on calmly, not even batting an eye.

“You called, your highness?” Jord bows respectfully in front of Laurent, two other members of the Prince’s guard following him. Even kneeling on one knee, Jord still meets Laurent’s eye level, though he does an admirable job at adopting an attitude of deference. 

Laurent looks very pleased with himself, and the upward movement of his lips reveals the hole in his smile from where a tooth had fallen out just a few days ago. (Auguste had told him that the tooth fairy would come and collect it and slipped a gold coin under his pillow that night, revelling in the delighted squeals of his brother the next morning.)

“Good morning Jord, please apprehend this man for insulting a member of the royal family,” Laurent instructs, sniffing haughtily. Auguste watches the exchange silently, though he can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face.

“Immediately, your majesty,” he agrees seriously, brown eyes glittering with hidden mirth.

In unison, the three soldiers stand and turn to face the Crown Prince, swords hanging loosely at their side. “Prince Auguste, by order of Prince Laurent of Vere, we hereby place you under detention pending a future trial to determine your guilt. We advise you not to struggle.”

Auguste’s eyes widen comically. “Jord? Lazar? Betrayed by my very own guard _ ,”  _ he sputters. “A travesty! A miscarriage of justice! A coup under my own roof!”

Unfazed by his dramatic performance, the stone-faced guards staunchly move forward and secure his arms behind his back. Auguste squirms and protests all the while. After successfully securing their newest prisoner, the guards triumphantly lead their captive to Laurent and place him at the prince’s feet.

Even at five years old, Laurent somehow manages to tower over his brother regally. He eyes him with an unimpressed look. Turning to the soldiers, he pointedly ignores his detainee and addresses them.

“Thank you, Jord. You are recognised for your loyalty to the crown. As promised, I will have the chef sneak you all an extra basket of scones in exchange for your service,” Laurent says seriously. The Crown Prince of Vere lets out a distinctly undignified gasp.  _ “Sold out for scones,”  _ he whispers conspiratorially, shaking his head in faux disappointment. The group of guards exchange smiles amongst themselves before politely excusing themselves and taking their leave. Auguste makes a mental note to discuss raising their pay with his father afterwards.

Now, he turns back to his jailer and collapses dramatically at his brother’s feet. “Oh your Majesty, please have mercy on me! I was but an insolent fool,” he sobs out. Laurent eyes him with an unimpressed sniff. Auguste’s eye twitches in amusement at the look of utter disapproval on the five-year old’s face.

“Silence traitor! I’m afraid the punishment for your crime is ….death!” He squeaks out with an adorable intensity. Auguste raises his hands in trepidation as the young prince stalks towards him with a plastic sword in hand. (Where did he even get that?) 

Auguste sputters out a few more incoherent pleas that do nothing to dissuade him. With a powerful yell, Laurent brings the sword down onto Auguste’s back and clambers on top of him at the same time. At the sensation of the smooth, plastic point digging lightly into his back, Auguste lets himself go limp. His tongue hangs out limply in death and through slitted eyes, he sees Laurent give himself a satisfied nod. 

Auguste waits for his brother to break into laughter so that he can rise and continue the next part of their game, but the cue never comes. He sneaks one eyelid open and sees Laurent headed towards the door. Subtly, he cranes his head more to get a better look. 

“Jord? You may return. I have dealt with the prisoner and now I would like some sweetmeats. Justice is rather tiring, you see,” he explains matter-of-factly. The guard gives an amused glance at Auguste’s prone body and shrugs discreetly when he catches the Crown Prince’s shocked expression in a well-what-can-you-do sort of way. 

Without any further words, Laurent offers his hand to Jord who begins to lead him down to the kitchens. Auguste is left lying on the ground in a state of disbelief. “Hey! I’m still here! Aren’t you going to tend to your prisoner?”

When he receives no response, he scrambles up and runs to the door. Meeting the bemused faces of the rest of the guard, he accosts them with questions. “Where did my brother go? Did he seriously just leave me here? How long have all of you been in on it?”

Stunned by the sudden barrage, they all remain silent, much to Auguste’s frustration. Finally, Orlant points a finger down the hallway wordlessly. Auguste’s eyes follow the instruction and recognises the path towards the kitchens. 

Defeated, he sinks to the floor once again. “First my guards, now my own family. Abandoned by my little brother for sweetmeats,” he warbles mournfully. Above him, the guards exchange looks with each other and awkwardly stand around. 

In the kitchens, a contented Laurent licks the cream off of his fingers.  _ Another productive day.  _

  
  


*****

  
  


The first time he sees the tiny bundle, it is like something clicks.

For years, he has been told that as King, his job would be to serve his people. He was put in a position of power to care for his subjects to the best of his ability, and bring together a swirl of people under one kingdom. The responsibility of caring for a kingdom is a serious one, but his heart has always been big enough to bear it. After all, creating happiness and contentment for people has never brought him anything but joy.

Still, it is only when he meets his baby brother for the first time that he understands for once what it means to love unconditionally, the fierce desire to protect.

His parents were the King and Queen, with more than enough obedient subjects to serve them and more than enough power to protect themselves. But his brother, Laurent, is helpless, so open and trusting. 

In this moment, from this infant who knows nothing of the world, he learns love.

  
  


*****

  
  


Laurent grows a sweet tooth even before he, well, grows teeth.

It, of course, is Auguste’s fault, because he’s the one who plies his baby brother with sweet creams from pastries and saccharine candied fruit for the baby to gum on. Who could blame him though?

Laurent, even as a child, often wears an impassive expression and only breaks out into a smile when greeted by the sight of his beloved brother coming to rescue him from the monotony of palace life. The smiles are rare, but when they appear, they open up his face like the sky and never cease to take Auguste’s breath away. 

The only other things that can prompt a toothless grin from him are desserts. Therefore, Auguste carries his younger brother around in his arms as they sneak through the kitchens, stealing a pastry or two when they can. Auguste eats the hard, outer crust with the help of his functional adult teeth, and Laurent sucks up the sweet inner fillings with gusto. He isn’t too picky about what he eats, so each such trip wins Auguste a dozen happy smiles. 

When they are inevitably found out by the Queen, often betrayed by the remnants of sticky cream coating Laurent’s face (and the slightly glazed expression of a baby on a sugar high) or the crumbs lining Auguste’s own mouth, the precious moments of bliss make the eventual scolding worth it.

  
  


*****

  
  


“...twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Ready or not, here I come,” he calls out mischievously, grinning at the little smothered giggle that rings through the chamber. At age four, Laurent is already a master strategist in chess, but he cannot quite help his giddy reactions to Auguste’s teasing. 

He spies a flash of blond hair in the corner of his vision, hidden poorly behind a nearby pillar, but stalks forward in the wrong direction anyway. He makes a big show of searching, peering under impossibly low chaises and lifting up goblets to check that his brother hasn’t somehow fit himself inside. Each silly action prompts a squeak of joy that brings a smile to Auguste’s own face.

“Alright then, it seems like I have been thoroughly defeated! I suppose I’ll just have to go on with my day and hope that Laurent can find his way back to his chambers by nightfall,” he declares, bringing a hand to his heart in a display of worry. His feigned concern is met by silence in a surprising show of restraint, but once he starts walking away, he hears the tell-tale sound of footsteps pattering behind him.

Inwardly, he grins, and continues on his duties for the day, occasionally lamenting about how he hasn’t been able to locate his brother and  _ have you seen Prince Laurent anywhere today?  _ The palace staff are well aware of the princes’ games and play along good-naturedly, much to Laurent’s audible delight.

At age fifteen, Crown Prince Auguste gains a little shadow, one that never quite leaves him afterwards.

  
  


*****

  
  


“I’m very sorry, brother, but these are very important negotiations that I need to be involved in. The Patran delegation will only be here for four days and we have to arrive at a treaty before they depart,” he says apologetically. 

The explanation does not go down well with Laurent, who pouts quite dramatically and tugs on Auguste’s pant leg once again. He is at the age where most other children would think themselves too cool and independent to associate with their family, but Laurent has always been an anomaly and instead gravitates even harder towards his older brother. It is endearing to the highest degree, and Auguste is forever honoured that he still is able to retain the affection of his younger brother, but it is at times like this when the endless adoration poses a problem.

“Are you sure you can’t come play? Not even for a little bit?” Despite the whiny note in his voice, Auguste can see real tears of disappointment forming in his brother’s eyes. The sight tugs at his heart strings.

Bending down, he cups Laurent’s cheek tenderly and looks seriously into his red-rimmed eyes. “Oh Laurent, please don’t be sad. I couldn’t bear it if I made you cry.”

At those words, Laurent visibly stiffens and rubs his eyes with a curled fist. His embarrassment makes Auguste sigh again and wrap him into a tight hug. Laurent clings back just as fervently, desperate to keep his brother close.

“Brother, you know why it’s important for me to help resolve the situation between the farmers and agriculturalists by the border,” he says gently. Laurent nods reluctantly. “We just need to come up with a plan before the Patran ambassador has to return, and then I will be able to devote some time to you.”

“I don’t see why you can’t just drop grain taxes by two percent this year to make up for the loss in grazing land and demand five years of tariff-free access to the Patran textile market instead,” Laurent huffs.

Auguste is just about to sigh fondly and explain to Laurent the complexities of economic policy-making when he finally processes Laurent’s suggestion. Upon serious contemplation, that is actually ...a brilliant proposition.

The Patrans have long been in dispute with Vere’s farmers along the border over access to the arable land that was needed by their agriculturalists. The territorial skirmishes were a perpetual thorn in Aleron’s side, and with the way talks were going, would probably have been a problem well into Auguste’s own reign. Similarly, a common complaint amongst Veretian cloth merchants was the lack of a sustainable domestic market in that region. In a short two minute conversation, ten-year old Laurent had just off-handedly offered a viable solution to their problems that would satisfy both parties. 

Enthused by the prospect of a workable solution to an age-old problem, Auguste sweeps his brother up in his arms and spins the boy around, eliciting a series of surprised laughs. Returning his now dizzy brother to the ground, he places a wet kiss on the crown of Laurent’s head, ruffling his hair tenderly. 

“You are absolutely genius, my darling brother. Let me go and share this idea with the council and,” he says warmly, giving Laurent a quick boop on his nose, causing the latter to wrinkle it. “Since we would have managed to come up with a solution in one day instead of the four originally allocated, I will be all yours for the next three!”

Laurent brightens at the news and begins to bossily shoo Auguste away, eager to have his brother all to himself. Smiling widely, Auguste complies and quickly makes his way to the council chambers, purpose in his steps. 

_ Little brother, you will be a true force to be reckoned with in a few years. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am leaving you all on a cliffhanger while I publish this prequel first. Yes, I have the last chapter written already (which I humbly think is my best work) and it pains me to keep that away from everyone BUT I wanted to write a lead-up to everything before we get on with the After, which is this story!
> 
> weave our goodbyes has been very much focused on Auguste's reaction to Laurent's (attempted?) suicide, so I wanted to explore what led up to that point and hope that i can do justice to the incredibly terrible thoughts and circumstances that can lead someone to try to take their own life. This first chapter is fairly fluffy, but please be warned and mind the tags! We all know what is coming next, and this fic does delve straight into those.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this as well and that it serves as a good lead up for WOG! (not sure if I should be trying to make that an acronym :b)


	2. now that I'm older

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from 'Now That I'm Older' by Sufjan Stevens (just a really interesting sound to it)
> 
> baby laureeeeeeeent :'(

  
  
  


Dressed in his soft and comfy sleepwear, Laurent during bedtime is all wide-eyed pleas for another story and valiant attempts to hide his drooping energy levels. He looks at Auguste with big, watery eyes, filled only with innocent wonder and fascination, promising that he’ll go to sleep right after this next book. Auguste has never quite been able to deny his brother, and now stripped down of all his grown-up wit and tightly-laced clothing, Laurent looks younger than ever. It is a refreshing escape from the cunning and deceit of the court, and so despite the yawn building in his own chest, he smiles fondly and caves in. 

“Just one more,” he agrees with a note of faux-warning in his voice, but it isn’t enough to dampen Laurent’s excitement. He lets out a bright cheer, and scrambles eagerly to find a suitable tale to end the night. Watching him rifle enthusiastically among his shelves, Auguste is struck by how happy he is at this simple act. It’s so easy to forget that Laurent is barely ten years old until those rare times when he feels like he no longer needs to hold back and can be himself. Auguste is blessed to be privy to those private times.

Laurent proudly pulls out a volume of fairy tales, an intricately designed tome featuring mystical gold lettering on the spine and fantastical beasts adorning the cover, and toddles over to Auguste. He knows Laurent’s exceptional proficiency with reading, but it’s still endlessly amusing to see him toting a book larger than his head with the care of a mother carrying her newborn child. He gladly accepts the proffered book and opens the familiar work up to Laurent’s favourite story, the one they have read time and time again through the years.

He feels Laurent wiggle into position next to him, resting his head on his brother’s chest and craning to see the pages that they’ve seen hundreds of times together. Smiling tenderly, he begins to narrate, drawing upon his wide repertoire of dramatic voices and theatrical readings. Laurent listens with rapt attention, gasping at every treacherous trial and cheering without shame when the dragon earns its happy ending like it was the first time. Laurent can easily argue the finer points of a treaty on maritime boundaries with foreign delegates six times his age, but is equally as entranced with the magic that his brother spins through words, a combination so uniquely _Laurent_ that Auguste can’t help but adore his little brother so fervently.

When the story draws to a close, Laurent is blinking the beginnings of sleep out of his eyes and stifling little yawns cutely. “Alright, off to bed now, my young prince,” he declares and Laurent tumbles onto his pillow without complaint. Auguste tucks his brother under the covers the way he likes, just as he’s done for thousands of nights in the past, and Laurent is already drifting off to sleep.

Then, as usual, he moves to pick up Laurent’s treasured horse plush toy, a highly-valued gift from a visiting noble that has followed Laurent from age three until now. Mr Clops — so named because of the imaginative power of children coupled with the trademark sound of hooves on stone — has been through being dragged through countless hallways when Laurent wasn’t big enough to carry him in his arms, and a fairly undignifying stage of having his ears gnawed on by a toothy toddler, but he spends each night as a cherished protector in Laurent’s bed. Just as he’s about to retrieve Mr Clops to complete Laurent’s bedtime routine, he hears a sleepy voice sound out. 

“Actually, I think I can sleep without Mr Clops tonight.”

The innocuous words send a bolt of dismay through him, and from his prized position on the shelf near Laurent’s bed, he swears he sees Mr Clops droop as well. It’s a simple, even childish thing, but Auguste can’t help how much sorrow it brings him. Laurent’s maturity can be seen even more clearly from his astute and analytical observations on political happenings, and his innocence has already begun to be eroded by the duplicity of the Veretian court, but somehow this, the inevitable growing out of childhood fears of monsters in the dark and the equally wondrous beliefs in magical horses who can fight them, is what strikes Auguste the most. 

Mr Clops had become an institution in Laurent’s life, and his by extension, so Auguste feels an admittedly unreasonable amount of sadness and loss at his relegation to the box of things past. It is only natural that children grow up and grow out of these innocent ideals, and Auguste has had a decade to come to terms with it, but he still can’t help but see the years with his brother slip through his fingers like sand. It is a bittersweet reminder that his little brother is growing up, and might not be so little anymore.

He clears his throat to try to hide the sudden lump that has formed. Hiding the dull ache in his chest, he tries to project a persona of his normal cheerful state. This growth may be something that saddens him, but as Laurent’s older brother, his job is to guide him through these changes and not dwell selfishly on the past. 

“Goodnight then, brother. Rest well,” he murmurs, and turns to leave. Right as his hand brushes the door, he’s stopped.

“Auguste?” Laurent’s high voice comes tentatively from the bed. He hums in acknowledgement. “I changed my mind. Could you maybe bring Mr Clops over here? He says he’ll get lonely if he doesn’t sleep in my bed,” Laurent whispers shyly.

Auguste’s gaze softens. “Of course, brother,” he answers warmly. Swiftly collecting the stuffed horse in question, Auguste traverses the pitch-black room with an ease developed from years spent with his brother in that very space. When he reaches Laurent’s bedside, he carefully tucks Mr Clops under the covers, safely next to his brother and smiles fondly into the darkness. _Not too grown up yet,_ he thinks fondly.

He can’t see it, but he feels Laurent clutch onto his plush childhood companion and snuggle into his pillow more deeply. Unable to resist, he places a quick kiss on top of Laurent’s brow before slowly walking to the door again. He lingers a few moments, just waiting for the telltale sounds of Laurent drifting into sleep and drinks in the comforting sound of those steady breaths. As he opens the door silently, he turns back to look at the sleeping figure of his most precious person one last time.

_Sleep tight, brother._

  
  


*****

  
  


“Auguste,” Laurent asks off-handedly one morning during breakfast. “What does the word _fuck_ mean?”

From where he was calmly drinking his morning tea, Auguste chokes. It is an Akelion word, fairly versatile and employed in a variety of contexts, but none quite suitable to be used around a child of Laurent’s age, certainly. As part of his education, Laurent has been studying the languages of the region and is decently skilled at it, but it is no surprise that he hasn’t come across this particular term in any of his scholarly texts yet. There is something incredibly wrong with Laurent’s innocent, child-like voice forming such a vulgar and inappropriate word, clearly with no conception of its meaning.

“W-where did you hear that word?” He stumbles out, eye twitching unconsciously. From his post by the wall of his room, Jord also shifts uncomfortably. There is no one more loyal to the Crown, and Auguste knows that he takes his duty to protect the princes very seriously. It seems that someone has failed at that responsibility in this case.

Laurent, with his sharp mind, clearly senses something is wrong, and answers hesitantly as he tries to parse out what the problem is. “I was going to the kitchens to get some sweetmeats,” he says slowly, ignoring Auguste’s pointed glare (This was a problem for another time). “I overheard two visiting Akelion guards talking about the princes, so I stopped to listen.”

Auguste begins to rub his temples in exasperation. Laurent’s penchant for eavesdropping and sneaking around the castle are migraine-inducing on a normal day, and it seems like once again, it’s created some trouble. Jord also stiffens at Laurent’s account, since it is clear that the young prince was unaccompanied on this trip, an unacceptable situation whether his guards were absent due to negligence or incompetence.

“One said that he liked my hair and eyes and how young I was,” Laurent continues factually, and Auguste’s fists clench at his words. “And the other said that it was such a pity that I was a prince and not a pet, because he would love to bend me over and—”

Laurent’s retelling of the story is interrupted by the sound of shattering glass as Auguste flung his mug on the floor. The Crown Prince is seething, white-knuckled fists shaking in rage at the thought of those disgusting _barbarians_ touching or even looking at his brother. 

Laurent at ten years old is certainly beautiful, and has the delicate, ethereal features of the Queen, but he is also a child, and any admiration of him should be from a purely aesthetic standpoint, and not as part of any deplorable, lustful thoughts. It rouses a great ire in him, knowing that there are such repugnant people in his kingdom who look upon his brother with less-than-pure intentions, and speak so degradingly about him. It is a blessing that Laurent doesn’t seem to have much awareness of the nature of their comments about him, because Auguste wants to help preserve his brother’s precious innocence for as long as he can. There is no way to protect Laurent from the lascivious looks sent his way whenever the royal family made an appearance, no matter how much Auguste abhors it, but he can at least shield him from the discomfort of feeling like he is merely a thing to be fetishized at such a young age.

Auguste’s rare display of such intense anger has clearly rattled Laurent, because he looks at the shards of glass strewn around the ground with wide eyes. Feeling a wall of guilt rise up at the expression of unease on his brother’s face, Auguste remorsefully tells him, “I’m sorry about that brother, please forgive my outburst and continue telling me what happened. They didn’t see you, did they?”

Laurent blushes and looks down at his shoes in a telling gesture. Auguste closes his eyes in defeat and sighs heavily before nodding to Laurent to continue. His brother acquiesces sheepishly. 

“Only at the very end! I must have bumped into something because they turned around the corner and saw me there. Their faces paled and they became very nervous, and one of them asked me to keep what I heard a secret.” 

Knowing that his vulnerable brother had come into contact with those brutes further distresses Auguste, especially after hearing that they tried to have a child hide evidence of their distasteful conduct, a common tactic in abusers. 

Laurent too scowls at this. “Of course, I didn’t, because I remembered what you said about keeping secrets for people I don’t trust, especially when it could be bad for Vere. I have no reason to keep the confidence of some strange Akelions, which is why I asked you about it,” he said with a sniff.

Auguste is overcome with a sense of relief at this crucial lesson having been internalised. It is a much-needed reassurance to know that even if he couldn’t stop such things from happening to his brother, he could at least teach him how to deal with them and more importantly, that he didn’t need to go through them alone because he would always have Auguste there to guide him. 

Standing up abruptly, he walks over to Laurent in three quick strides and unceremoniously wraps him up in a big hug. “Well done, brother. I’m so proud of you for telling me. Don’t worry about this anymore, I’ll handle this,” he says, voice muffled by Laurent’s shoulder.

Laurent lets out a surprised noise at being lifted into the air, but quickly relaxes into his brother’s arms. A moment of silence passes before he asks innocently, “So what does it mean then?”

Auguste chokes and drops Laurent back down as he finds himself at a loss for words. Laurent, nonplussed, settles back down at the table and reaches for another pastry. Auguste’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly while he tries to figure out how to explain this to his brother. Finally, he settles on a vague, “It’s something that only adults should be doing, so don’t bother about it for now.”

Laurent doesn’t seem too impressed with that answer, but he accepts it nonetheless. Auguste’s face grows serious. He walks right to Laurent’s side and crouches down so he can look into his brother’s eyes. 

“I know how intelligent you are, brother, so please do not take this as an insult to your mind. There are simply some things that you will only be ready for when you are older, and it is not right for adults to make any advances on you. If someone ever does something that makes you uncomfortable, or if anyone other than family tries to touch you, I want you to come and tell me, Father, Mother or Uncle about it immediately, okay?”

Laurent’s eyes have gained the same sombre quality as Auguste’s tone, and he nods solemnly. Auguste’s smile softly and ruffles his brother’s hair. “Thank you, Laurent.”

Then, he stands up and makes his way to the door. “Please enjoy the rest of your breakfast. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to deal with some unsavoury characters.” In a purposeful motion, he exits the room, leaving Jord, Laurent and a tray full of sweetmeats.

After the flurry of the morning, Jord lets himself take a slow breath. It has not escaped him that Laurent is exceptionally beautiful, and that sort of innocent perfection tends to attract all sorts of unwanted attention. He knows full well the insidious character of the Veretian court, and is particularly sensitive to the wandering eyes of infamous courtiers, and looks that hold more intent than just a passing gaze. It is incomprehensible to him, how one can look at a child and hold less than pure thoughts, but he knows that evil men do not need to explain themselves before harming a child. In some ways, it is a losing battle, disposing of one threat only to be confronted with two more, but it is one that Jord is determined to fight with all of his power.

It is his honour to be trusted with the safety and wellbeing of the princes, and his dedication to the crown is unwavering. Watching the two of them grow up, blossoming from young, innocent boys into the future leaders of Vere was a special privilege, and a rare one at that. On a personal level, Jord had developed a soft spot for the brothers, and his protective instinct goes far beyond that of duty. Still, he cannot deny that it is a trying job, having to constantly be alert for threats both in and out of the palace, and hopefully, also helping to provide even the royal children with a semblance of a normal childhood. 

Raising his hands to his temples, he closes his eyes and tries to soothe the impending headache away. He only takes his attention off of Laurent for five seconds, but by the time he looks back at the table, the chair is empty and the door is swinging in the wind. He lets out a defeated sigh and goes to chase the wayward prince. With Auguste’s departure just moments before, it is not difficult to guess where Laurent has gone. He may be small and slippery, but he has only had a few seconds’ headstart, so Jord is sure to catch him before he reaches the throne room and has the chance to spectate what Auguste had wanted to shield his eyes from. Resigned to a strenuous morning chase, he speedily moves to catch the still-swinging door. He loves Laurent and will protect him with his life, but sometimes, he can’t help but think, _damn that child._

Moments after the guard leaves the room, a tiny blond head peeks out from under the table. Laurent gracefully climbs out from under the table cloth and brushes his tunic off before making his way along the same path taken by his brother first, and now Jord. Right before he starts on his journey, he pauses for a moment and doubles back to the table, snagging a fruit tart for the road.

(Later, he watches from behind one of the throne room’s large, imposing and conveniently placed pillars as his brother viciously berates the two Akelion guards. Munching on his snack, he can’t help but take a great deal of pride in Auguste’s skilful insults and cutting comments that leave both offenders positively cowering in place. It seems like his brother has some bite to him after all.)

  
  


***** 

  
  


“Sorry Laurent, I can’t play with you now,” he says, brushing past his brother absent-mindedly. From the corner of his eye, he can see Laurent deflate and feels a pang of guilt at the dejected expression on his brother’s face. Unfortunately, as the future ruler of Vere, he has to start taking on more responsibilities, which demand a greater amount of his time and by extension, a regrettable distance from his brother.

Laurent is usually quite accepting and thoughtful about Auguste needing to put off their excursions, but today, Auguste can see him gearing up to object. He can’t quite blame him — it’s been quite a few days since they’ve had the opportunity to see each other, and the long stretch of time away from his dearest and only friend is grating on Laurent. Nonetheless, he has no choice but to entertain the lord from Fontaine, and to not attend their arranged tea, no matter how pointless, would be a grave insult that would have lasting consequences for his relations with the noble. 

He doesn’t quite have time to engage with Laurent’s protests now as he’s already running behind, but he knows that he owes his brother at least this. Turning to Laurent, he takes in those red-rimmed eyes and smiles sadly. “I am truly sorry, brother, but an important appointment calls me away. I promise that I will come to see you the minute I am able, but for now, I need you to be a big boy for me, okay?”

Laurent still looks troubled, and his eyes hold a defiant note, but Auguste knows his brother and how mature and considerate he is, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when Laurent reluctantly nods. It doesn’t take away from the sense of pride he feels for Laurent’s thoughtfulness, which is why he almost doesn’t hear the sound of someone else entering the room until they call his name.

“Auguste? The King is summoning you to the throne room now,” their uncle calls out. The King’s advisor takes in the scene before him and immediately understands what is happening. Stepping smoothly next to the brothers, he gently nudges Auguste up and towards the door. 

“Laurent, let’s leave your brother to go and attend his business, shall we? It wouldn’t do to delay him over some childish matters when he has to start looking more seriously to his responsibilities.” Auguste looks like he wants to protest at those harsh words, but their uncle continues addressing his younger nephew. “Here, I understand that you are quite the little chessmaster. Would you indulge me in a game, then?” 

Auguste sees his brother grudgingly perk up at the mention of chess, and feels a surge of gratitude rise in his chest. It is a comforting reminder that even if he can’t always be there for his brother, he has the rest of his family to look out for Laurent as well. As he quietly slips out of the room, the last glimpse he catches is the sight of their Uncle placing a light hand on Laurent’s shoulder.

  
  


*****

When the Queen dies, it’s like the King goes with her.

The sickness takes her mercilessly, as one final fit of coughs steals the air from her body. No amount of power, jewels or gold will deny it its due, and the King sits helpless by her bedside as her body is wracked by fever. 

Laurent too has a deep red flush on his cheeks stealing the colour from the rest of his skin as he tosses and turns in a battle that he must fight himself. Perhaps youth, perhaps providence, perhaps an answer to his prayers (oh, but he can only have one plea granted), but Laurent lives while their mother does not.

The King does not cope well with the death of his love, and his rule suffers as a result. Auguste is the Crown Prince, groomed since birth to take on the mantle from his father, but he is still a young man himself and at once, he finds himself needed to hold up a kingdom and his family at the same time. 

He did not ever think it possible, but for the first time, seeing Laurent come to cling onto his side, the boy (for he still is a child) too young to know grief truly, his brother feels like a burden. In these dark moments, with the weight of duty on his shoulders, even if the crown is not yet on his head, he finds relief in his uncle’s steady presence, a wizened hand guiding him through the intricacies of court life where his father cannot. He is reminded once again of the blessing of family.

Auguste sees the lifelessness in his father’s eyes, only replaced by flickers of a man hollowed out by grief, and wonders why one would ever love so dearly that it barters off one’s soul. His gaze drifts to Laurent sleeping fitfully in his bed, and as he goes to smooth the furrow from his brother’s brow, he realises the answer to his own question: love is not a choice, it simply happens and as painful as its loss is, it remains the most wondrous of gifts to be cherished.

  
  


*****

  
  


With his slate of new responsibilities, it is harder for Auguste to tear himself away from his work to see his little brother. Their times together have grown more sparing, but no less meaningful.

The day finds them sitting peacefully in Laurent’s chambers, Auguste busying himself with some paperwork and Laurent with a book. It is not much, but when ruling the kingdom demands all of his time, he is glad that he at least may choose the location that he executes his duties from, so he may still hold on to his brother. Laurent does not seem to mind, and the rarity with which he manages to see his brother somehow makes him appreciate him more. Still, Auguste worries that he cannot do justice to his brother’s adoration and give Laurent all that he deserves (the world). 

“Laurent, don’t you want to have friends your own age?” He asks all of a sudden.

He had been trying to review the labour laws in Aquitart, but every discussion of how to manage the time of children brings him back to his brother. Head still deep in his book, Laurent doesn’t stir. His silence makes it clear what he thinks of the question, but Auguste is undeterred and continues to stare at his brother pleadingly, desperate for an answer.

Finally, Laurent puts down his book and looks up, cocking his head curiously at his brother. 

“Why would I need other people when I have you?” He asks plaintively. The words are spoken with such an earnest, guileless expression and for a moment, Auguste is stricken. 

The answer is on his lips. _Because it’s not good to only depend on me. Because I might be too busy to spend time with you when I’m King. Because I might not always be there for you._

There are so many things he can say but he doesn’t speak any of them. Because none of them are true really, are they? All those promises of them being brothers forever, and all that that entailed, were vows that he meant to keep. There would be no world where he still took breath that he would ever let his little brother down. How could he, when Laurent is his world?

And maybe it’s a little odd that they are so close even after all this time. It might be strange that his best friend is eleven years his junior, and his closest confidante still a child. So perhaps he has spoiled Laurent with his love, but it is a mistake he would make over and over again.

He looks at those eyes which have grown through the years but still hold that same enthralling blue that first captivated him more than a decade ago. Laurent has matured and developed a truly fearsome skill with words and his intellect, but deep down, he is still that same little boy shyly pulling at the hem of his tunic and watching his life with adoring gazes. He sees it in every rare glimmer of a smile that breaks out in their precious, snatches of conversation, just for him, and each stolen pastry wordlessly left on his desk after a long day in council. His brother has grown, but not the distance between them, and he will always be Auguste’s baby brother, forever worthy of his love and protection.

All thoughts of his goal of convincing Laurent to be more sociable with his peers fly out of his mind and he crumples into his brother’s arms. He can feel Laurent’s surprise, but he still wraps his arms around Auguste tentatively. Out of habit, or out of choice, Auguste isn’t sure. What he does know is that there is nothing more natural than being here with his brother. 

He clings tightly to his brother and prays that love is enough to hold them together through everything. The sting of tears prickles his eyes and he blinks them away furiously, because it is still too early for mourning.

“No, brother,” he murmurs. “I suppose you don’t.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Aleron dies at the turn of Summer. ( _Heartbreak_ , they say. _He was already dead when the Queen passed._ Nonetheless, his reign only formally ends when his body takes its last breath.) 

When Auguste steps up to receive his crown, he sheds the mantle of brother and takes up the role of King. No longer now are they the golden princes; Auguste is the ruler of the people of Vere and he belongs to more than just Laurent.

All eyes, including his, are on his brother, and similarly, Auguste seems to look at everyone but him. It is a terrible thought to have, on the momentous occasion marking his brother’s ascension to power, but he cannot help but think that the festivities also now mark the end of their relationship. He had never been upset about being second in line for the throne until this moment, because it also means that he is second in Auguste’s heart.

From his seat right in front of the dais, Laurent fingers the small sapphire hoop in his ear that he keeps hidden behind a wave of his hair. He takes comfort in the feel of the cool metal against his finger. It is a small, nondescript gift, but it reminds him that even though he might have lost his brother’s love, someone else is there to take his place. If he couldn’t have Auguste, at least he could belong to someone. _At least I have this, if I don’t have a crown,_ he thinks bitterly.

_I love you so much, Laurent._

  
  


*****

Auguste whirls around the ballroom, flitting from noble to visiting courtier with equal parts grace and warmth. He holds himself with the regal stature of a king, but still retains the same sincere, open kindness that endears him to his people. It is not difficult to see why he will be the most beloved ruler in Vere’s history.

As always, Laurent broods in a corner, dismissing conversational courtiers with clipped responses and his icy demeanour. They take the subtle rejection with good humour, as his frigidity is as well-known throughout the kingdom as his beauty, and not even Laurent’s churlish countenance can dampen the euphoria of the atmosphere. Still, the difference is that this time, there is no teasing tap on his shoulder or a wide, cheeky smile to prompt a faint smile from him or urge the introverted prince to make nice with some visiting nobles.

Auguste is well within his field of vision, so it comes as a surprise when he still feels an overly familiar touch on his back. He startles, and quickly spins around to confront the offending hand. When he sees the smiling face of his uncle, he immediately relaxes. He has come to learn that other than his brother, there is one other person that he can trust with his heart.

“How are you enjoying the banquet, Prince Laurent?” Uncle inquires lightly. Against his best wishes, his scowl is immediate. Fortunately, his undiplomatic reaction only wins him an amused laugh from his uncle. He still blushes bright red at being caught without his well-crafted mask. “It’s fine, I suppose,” he grumbles, embarrassed.

“Why Laurent, your brother has just become King! Isn’t this a joyous occasion?” Uncle feigns shock. Now that he’s realised that he cannot hide his true feelings from one who knows him so well, so intimately, Laurent doesn’t bother to hide his frown. “Of course, and Auguste will make a wonderful king, but I just wish we were out riding or playing chess or doing anything together instead of being stuck here...” He trails off.

He knows how petulant and immature he sounds, but he can’t help spilling out these unfiltered thoughts to the only person who he can express his true sentiments with. How could he ruin his brother’s special day with his selfish and ugly words?

Uncle hums thoughtfully. “I can imagine so, you and Auguste were always so close.” Those caring words are accompanied by a gaze that seems to cut right through to Laurent, and he squirms in discomfort at the telling stare. “Unfortunately, my dear boy, it seems like Auguste has better, more important things to do with his time now.”

Uncle nods towards the far end of the ballroom and Laurent follows the line of his eye. He watches Auguste toss his head back in laughter at a comment made by someone from the Patran delegation and his heart sinks. He feels Uncle’s large hand rest on his shoulder and leans into the warmth to stave off the drowning in his chest.

“Don’t worry Laurent,” Uncle murmurs softly into his sweet, golden hair. “I’ll take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting a little slimy in here and it only goes down from here :-( every comment and kudos is a hug for my poor children


End file.
